


August

by penceypansy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AUgust - Freeform, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Its not that sad, Lovesick Ian, M/M, Oneshot, Phone Sex, Smut, based on august by taylor swift, i kind of ignored bits of canon bc i cba dealing with svet, probably around season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceypansy/pseuds/penceypansy
Summary: Based on August by Taylor Swift.Mickey’s been around this summer, more often than before, but still not enough.Sometimes he’s sat on the sofa in Mandy’s front room when Ian walks through, sometimes he smiles at Ian, sometimes he doesn’t look at him. Sometimes he comes into the shop, sees Kash and walks straight back out, sometimes he buys a pack of cigarettes from Ian and leaves one on the counter. Ian’s felt sick all summer, he thinks its probably the heat, like a dragging nausea in his gut as if he’s out at sea. The waves break and his stomach lurches whenever Mickey is nearby.Its just the heat.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	August

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to August if you want it's a good song.  
> This is probably around season 2 but I've left out a lot of difficult canon stuff that I didn't want to deal with like the Army and Svet. Terry's still a dick though don't worry.  
> I don't write much so any feedback is appreciated, and I'm sorry if I've missed any spelling mistakes.  
> Thank you for reading.

**_But I can see us lost in the memory_**  
 ** _August slipped away into a moment in time_**  
 ** _'Cause it was never mine_**  
-

Winter in Chicago was oppressive. The snow that fell over the city consistently from November to February never stuck in the city centre, the constant flow of cars and feet turned it to sludge as soon as it fell. On the Southside though, it blanketed everything, a fresh coat every morning to scrape off windscreens and doorsteps. Heavy, low clouds and layers of snow on the ground building up over the weeks made for an echo chamber. Every sound was muffled in woolly hats and hoods whilst also bouncing off the insulated ground. It was suffocating.

The summers were different, but certainly not better. Heat seemed to lay thick near the ground, just like the snow had months before. With school out kids ran in and out of neighbours' houses shrieking, playing, and fighting. Everyone else seemed to be wrestling for relief from the heat, rotary fans and front garden pools not cutting it once the sun was high in the sky. The best place for catching a breeze was the shores of Lake Michigan and that’s where Ian was spending a Saturday in mid August.

He and Mandy got up early and caught the bus in jeans, stripping off gradually as noon grew nearer and the suns rays reached them. Summer was usually nothing to Ian, felt no different since he’s basically stopped going to school. The house was always full of kids, needing him, depending on him, Fiona checking whether he’d be home for dinner, how much money he was spending. Always someone on his back. But Debbie’s older now, she’s taking the brunt of the childcare, Fiona seems busier than usual, distracted almost, but that’s okay with Ian. It means she’s not noticing him coming home later and later, or sometimes not at all.

He’s so busy this summer, feels like it’s hard to stop and take a moment to settle down. Ned wants to see him all the time which is fine, he’s decent company and he has a king-sized bed and buys him things. He’s almost full time at the Kash-and-Grab which is fine because he needs the money and it fills the days. Kash is always staring at him, probably counting down the minutes until Linda goes out, or they can close for lunch so that Ian can bend him over in the stockroom. And that’s fine too. What isn’t fine is Ian jumping every time the bell above the shop door rings, how he’s taking his morning coffee on the front porch that happens to face the Milkovich’s, how Mickey’s been around this summer, more often than before, but still not enough.

Sometimes he’s sat on the sofa in Mandy’s front room when Ian walks through, sometimes he smiles at Ian, sometimes he doesn’t look at him. Sometimes he comes into the shop, sees Kash and walks straight back out, sometimes he buys a pack of cigarettes from Ian and chats for a second. Ian’s felt sick all summer, he thinks its probably the heat, like a dragging nausea in his gut as if he’s out at sea. The waves break and his stomach lurches whenever Mickey is nearby. But its probably the heat.

One evening he’s waiting for Ian, almost right outside the shop, rolling back and forth on his heels like he’s been waiting a while. Once Kash had said goodnight and walked off the other way he’d pulled Ian into the next alleyway slamming him against a wall, and it crossed Ian’s mind for a second that he might be about to be beaten up but his heart hadn’t stopped stammering from seeing Mickey stood outside the shop so he can’t hold onto that worry for long. But Mickey drops to his knees in the hot, heavy evening air and blows him hard, barely comes up for air until Ian is coming straight down his throat. Ian’s hands hadn’t even had time to move to Mickey’s hair or shoulders, they just form fists by his side while he watches Mickey swallow him down in shock. And it really was a shock. Ian could count the amount of time Mickey had gone down on him on one hand, and he’d never been the one to go first. Yet there he was, still on his knees, taking a second to catch his breath, staring up at Ian like something out of the magazines under his mattress.

Ian feels lightheaded at the sight, or maybe it was that he’d gone from zero to orgasm in under 5 minutes. When he pulls Mickey to his feet and tries to reciprocate Mickey shoves him off muttering something about having to get back. Obviously they’re just headed in the same direction, but it feels like Mickey’s walking him home. Ian wants to hold his hand, heart stuttering every time their fingers brush, but he doesn’t dare. Mickey doesn’t kiss him when they part ways and Ian doesn’t stop glancing at the shop door every few minutes the next day.

**_-_ **   
**_Your back beneath the sun_ **   
**_Wishin' I could write my name on it_ **   
**_Will you call when you're back at school?_ **   
**_I remember thinkin' I had you_ **   
**_-_ **

Sometimes they walk past Mickey on their way out of the house, sometimes they bump into him at the beach and Mandy accuses him of trying to babysit her. He’s all over Ian’s summer but he still feels like a spectre, drifting in and out of reach.

When Ian slipped into sleep on the hot sand that day, he’d been thinking of Mickey on his knees the week before, imaging what would have happened if he’s let Ian return the favour. When he opens his eyes a few hours later Mickey is sat in front of him chatting to Mandy. Ian doesn’t move, doesn’t stretch or yawn, just stares at the back of Mickey’s head, at the beads of sweat collecting at the base of his hair. His back is caught pink from weeks in the sun and Ian wants to touch it so bad, to see if it’s hotter than normal, if the pressure of his fingertip would turn the blushed skin white. He thinks it definitely would. He could trace down his spine, leave hand prints on his waist where Ian wants to hold him. He wets his lips unconsciously. He could trace his name in the space between Mickey’s shoulder blades, watch the words appear and know that Ian had had him. It wouldn’t last. The words would fade soon enough and no one would know they’d ever been there, wouldn’t know that this whole summer had belonged to Mickey.

Mickey glances over at him, catching Ian staring and raising his eyebrows in a “the fuck you looking at?”. But there’s no menace in his eyes so Ian holds his gaze. Mickey breaks contact first, looking away uncomfortably. Sometimes Ian can’t tell whether Mickey is scared of people finding out because of what they might say or if he genuinely hates that part of himself. Hates Ian. Never mind, he shrugs it off and closes his eyes again.

A shadow blocks his sun.

“Tell Mandy I’ve gone home when she gets back, she’s gone for a piss,” Mickey is towering over him.

Ian frowns, squinting up at him, “Already?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, kicking the sand near Ian’s head, “I’ve been here for two hours, sleeping beauty. Not my fault you snored through it.”

Ian dropped his gaze to Mickey’s feet planted beside him in the sand, reaching his hand out to hold onto his ankle, brushing his finger against the bone that juts out there.

“Quit it,” Mickey snaps.

He’s not holding on tight, wouldn’t be hard for Mickey to start walking away and break his grip. But he doesn’t. Ian Looks back up at him to see Mickey’s eyes flitting between Ian’s stretched out body and where his hand is connecting them.

“I’m busy for the next few days.” He finally side steps out of Ian’s grasp.

Ian lets his arm fall to his side. “Okay.”

Mikey huffs like Ian’s asking him questions he’s sick of answering. “I’ll be back Tuesday probably. Charge your phone.”

And he’s disappearing along the beach.

_**-** _   
_**Back when we were still changin' for the better** _   
_**Wanting was enough** _   
_**For me, it was enough** _   
_**To live for the hope of it all** _   
_**Cancel plans just in case you'd call** _   
_**-** _

Tuesday rolls around and nothing happens. He wanders over to the Milkovich’s before work, taking Mandy a Poptart, but the house is empty so he makes it to the store nearly an hour early. Kash takes him straight into the back and Ian blows him, not in the mood for it. That evening he has pizza with Mandy in her still empty home. He doesn’t ask her if she’s heard from her dad or brothers, just watches TV by her side until it finally goes dark and he thinks it might be cool enough to go home and fall asleep.

His phone lights up as he’s drifting off, a few more seconds and he wouldn’t have seen it.

“Mickey?” He answers embarrassingly quick, something flipping in his chest.

There’s a moments silence before Mickey whispers, “Hi.”

“Is everything okay?” He can’t think of a time that Mickey has called him, he feels equally as excited as worried.

“Yeah, just,” He sounds off, still whispering so quietly he must be pressed close to the receiver, “Just tell me what you’ve been doing.”

Ian shifts on the bed, sitting up a bit, “What? I’ve not been doing anything, just working.”

There’s a muffled noise on the line like Mickey is moving around, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing really unless you’re back. What’s going on Mickey?” Ian whispers too, doesn’t know why because Lip never came home and Carl fell asleep in front of the TV, he’s alone in the room.

“Fuck Ian, just talk to me will you,” It sounds strained like he’s in pain.

“I don’t understand what’s going on. Are you calling me for a chat?” Mickey chats when he’s watching Ian train or when he picks up beer from the shop, just when they’re occupied doing other things and it would be weird not to.

“No I, I’m just,” He’s breathless and it hits Ian like a ton of bricks.

“Are you getting off right now?”

The line drops. Ian calls him back and doesn’t have time to worry that he won’t answer before the dial tone stops and he can hear breathing again.

“Mick what are doing?” Ian whispers gently, he can’t scare him off. He’s got goosebumps everywhere despite the temperature inside the room. There’s no response, and he’d question whether Mickey’s hung up again but he can still hear laboured breathing.

“Why did you call me Mickey?” His voice has dropped with anticipation and he hears a muffled groan.

“Wanted to hear you,” it’s reedy and high pitched and not like Mickey at all but Ian feels it in his lower gut.

“Wanted to hear me while you do what?” He presses, testing the boundaries, “While you touch yourself?”

Mickey breathes out an “Oh”.

Ian’s dick twitches and he squeezes himself over his shorts, frustrated. He needs to hear Mickey.

“Mickey, tell me what you’re doing. Are you fingering yourself?”

Mickey gives a breathy laugh, “Can’t, in case dad walks in. Need to be able to tell him you’re a girl.”

Ian slides his hand into his shorts, “So what? You’re jerking off?” His voice is firm, demanding, it normally gets the right kind of response from Mickey.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“I’m not a girl though, am I Mick? You’re not thinking about fucking girls, you’re thinking about me. Giving it to you. Hard.”

That gets a real moan, softer than he’s heard from Mickey before. Mickey is normally loud, he’s not afraid to make noise but they normally sound like the porn he watches, deep and in time with Ian’s thrusts as they bang against the bleachers or the freezers. The only person he’d heard make these kinds of noises was the only time he and Kash had done it face to face. Kash had brought blankets for the shop floor and had cried afterwards- it was off putting. Ian had still come but he sure wasn’t eager to do it again. Those noises from Mickey made his breath catch in this throat and he vision swim. Ian wishes he could see him.

“Fuck- Ian.”

Ian’s so hard, shoving his shorts down to his knees so he can properly fist his dick.

“You’d be taking it if I was there. You always do, you take it so well,” Ian pants wanted Mickey to hear that he’s feeling it too. “Don’t you feel empty Mickey?”

Mickey gasps, “Fuck me Ian, I need it.” He’s still whispering, obviously trying to be quiet. He sounds strung out and Ian wonders how long he’d been at it before he’d picked up the phone.

“Finger yourself, Mickey. Let me hear you.” Ian’s close, imagining Mickey needing something that he can’t have. Needing Ian’s voice and Ian’s dick.

“I can’t,” he whimpers, “Fuck Ian. Ian-”

Ian is coming into his own fist, as the phone cuts out into a high-pitched beep. He keeps it pressed to his ear as he catches his breath, room settling back around him. He types out a message through heavy eyes.

_To Mickey: Did you finish?_

_From Mickey: Fuck off_

And then a second later.

_From Mickey: Be home soon Gallagher_

Ian falls asleep still holding the phone.

-

The shop is busy but Ian’s gotten used to it. It’s all kids coming in for popsicles and parents coming to replenish their beer coolers. It makes the days go fast. Kash leans over him in the freezer when they’re restocking ice cream and tells him that Linda’s taking the kids to a BBQ that evening if Ian wants to stay behind for a screw after work. But Ian declines, apologetically telling him he’s already got plans with Ned. He jumps when his phone pings but it’s just Ned wondering why he’s not been over since the weekend when it’s now Wednesday. He makes something up about Fiona being sick.

He half expects Mickey to be waiting for him after work, but he isn’t. He thinks the heat is getting to him, making him soft.

By 10pm he’s sick of checking his phone. It’s cooled down only a little bit after another scorching day, but the fan in their room is angled at Liam’s crib while he settles for the night, so Ian lets himself out the front to try and catch a breeze on the steps. He’s not looking at Mickey’s house he’s just facing that way. Halfway through a cigarette his phone lights up.

_From Mickey: What are you doing tonight?_

Ian’s feeling feisty. It’s not out of the ordinary for him.

_To Mickey: Not decided yet? Ned probably, or maybe someone new. Oh wait you said what, not who._

_From Mickey: Fine_

The response is fast and Ian feels a twinge of something like guilt. If Mickey knew he’d basically been staking out his house he doesn’t know if it’d make him feel better or worse. Ian always seemed to be walking a line with Mickey. Too much attention from Ian and Ian could see him visibly cringe away, if Ian played it too cool he could see Mickey falter, close in on himself a bit in a way that made Ian curious. So he walked the line as best he could, of course sometimes he tested the limits, but he never wanted to push Mickey away for good.

_To Mickey: Kidding. What do you want me to be doing?_

He hits send.

_From Mickey: Want fuck all from you Gallagher_

Ian groans but the next message comes through before he can reply.

_From Mickey: Come over_

_**-** _   
_**Salt air, and the rust on your door** _   
_**I never needed anything more** _   
_**Whispers of "Are you sure?"** _   
_**"Never have I ever before"** _   
_**-** _

Ian’s knocking on Mickey’s bedroom door in under a minute. It feels a bit stupid when he’s been invited but it’s hard to ignore the cardboard sign.

“Gallagher?” Comes from within.

Ian pushes in and sees Mickey halfway out his window, smoke heavy in the room as usual. He’d not been in Mickey’s room more than a couple of times, especially not since Terry’s been out of prison but it feels familiar. Just a boy’s room, like his own across the street.

“When did you get back?” Ian asks, he hadn’t noticed anyone in the house all evening, knowing that Mandy had spent the day at her most recent fling’s place, not looking forward to seeing her father again.

Mickey flicked his cigarette out of the window, turning so he’s still sat on the ledge but facing inwards.

“Today. Dad sent me home. He’s not a fan of his boys having ideas, or original thoughts in general I guess.” He laughs dryly.

Ian settles in the centre of the bed, back against the headboard. The streetlights outside illuminate one side of Mickey’s face and Ian can’t drag his eyes away from the shadow his cheekbone is casting. He hates how much he missed Mickey after only a few days, definitely won’t tell him that he’s been watching the house, cancelling his plans, praying that he’d be the first one Mickey called when he got back from whatever he was doing. That he keeps replaying their phone call in his head.

There’s lots of things he won’t ever tell Mickey. Like how he’d never see Ned again if Mickey told him to. How he’d quit the Kash and Carry without a second thought if Mickey called him his. Mickey would probably laugh at him- or call him a fag and batter him. Even if Mickey had called him over here to beat his ass, to take out whatever had gone on with his dad on Ian, it would still probably make the top 10 moments of Ian’s summer.

He’s starting to feel a bit sick of it, of his heart racing every time the bell on the shop door sounds or the front door of the house across the streets opens in case it’s Mickey. A part of him thinks it’s time for Mickey to go back to juvie so Ian can breathe for a bit, its easier to keep his cool when there’s a glass screen between them and Mickey is playing the asshole in front of his cellmates. Except the last few times Ian has visited him he’d seen Mickey’s fingers creeping closer to the glass. He wasn’t thinking about that now.

“Where is your dad?” Ian has to ask. He sees Mickey grimace like he can’t help himself.

“Still on the job, it’s going to take them another day at least to get done. I was trying to tell him how to get it done faster but he didn’t take it great. Would rather just have those idiots there to do the dirty work without asking questions.” He sighs exasperated.

“You need to be careful Mick,” Ian says passively, “You’ll end up back in Juvie if you keep going on jobs with them. And you know your dad’s not the smartest, how many times have the cops had him?”

Mickey scoffs, “It’s no more laws than Lip breaks.”

“Lip doesn’t get caught. You’ve done time once and next year it goes on your record.”

“Right,” Something flashes in Mickey’s eyes like hurt, but Ian doesn’t know what he’s said wrong.

“What-“ Ian starts.

“Nothing,” Mickey snaps, “can’t all be masterminds, we’re thugs. It’s in the blood you should be used to that by now.”

It hangs in the air, heavy for a second. Ian can feel that they’re on the precipice of a fight and he’d normally give into it, snap back and let Mickey lay into him, but he can’t remember the last time they had the house without Terry.

“Come here,” he says instead.

Mickey stares him down, still looking for conflict but after a second he sighs, sitting opposite Ian on the bed. Ian studies his face, eyes sliding over his arched eyebrows and pale skin. He looks tired but that’s nothing new, Ian’s started to notice himself getting tired too. At the start of the summer he was jogging twice a day, juggling work and childcare, and getting off with Kash or Ned basically every day. The last week or so it’d been a bit harder to get himself out of bed. He’d been avoiding Ned, mainly just to avoid the constant talking Ned liked to do, but also because he felt like being with anyone other than Mandy was draining him. Being with Mickey was okay too. He figures he’s just winding down after a busy summer.

“This a fucking staring contest or are you going to get on me Gallagher?” Mickey breaks the silence but he’s half smiling, obviously out of his previous mood, eyes flitting down to Ian’s lips. They meet in the middle, both rising to their knees to kiss each other, roughly like they always do, hands gripping in each other’s hair.

Mickey always kisses Ian like that, hard and shallow, giving to Ian but yielding nothing. It’s fine for in the back of the shop, or outside under the bleachers, but Ian can’t stand it on the bed in Mickey’s childhood room. He pushes Mickey round and down so his head is on the pillow and Ian can pin his hands. Pressed down and caged like that it’s harder for Mickey to resist when Ian slows the kiss and licks deep into Mickey’s mouth. Mickey shudders and it encourages Ian to keep going, releasing one of Mickey’s hands to bring his own hand down to Mickey's face, fingers curling under his chin, thumb pressing to his cheekbone. Mickey’s now free hand jumps up to Ian’s chest and for a second Ian thinks Mickey is going to push him off like he has so many times before. But instead he just fists Ian’s shirt as he sucks on Ian’s tongue.

Ian’s hard, been half way there in anticipation since Mickey texted him to come over, and he can feel Mickey start to squirm beneath him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing him like this because he knows soon it’ll be hard and fast, the only way that Mickey will let him do it, and it’ll be over in minutes. One time he tried to go slower, tried to let Mickey feel Ian inside him for a minute before he started the frantic thrusts that he knew Mickey wanted, but Mickey had pushed him off and spat at him before they both went home upset and unsatisfied.

If Ian was insecure, or a girl, he’d probably think it was him. That Mickey didn’t want to be reminded of who was fucking him and just wanted it over as quick as possible. But Ian knew that it wasn’t personal, he’d be the same way with anyone, and actually it was a boost to Ian’s ego that he was the only guy Mickey did this with. And Mickey could be sweet, in his own way, could hint to Ian that there was some kind of feeling there like when he bought cigarettes from the shop and left one on the counter for Ian, or the awkward pat on the back he’d given him when he’d been there to pick Mickey up from Juvie. So yeah, Ian didn’t mind, the wanting was enough.

Mickey’s started tugging on Ian’s shirt by this point, trying to get it over his head without disconnecting them. Ian’s the one to break away to pull it off and kick off his shorts while he’s at it. Mickey lets out a small sound and Ian looks down at him, mouth wet and red, eyes dark. Ian doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mickey like this, he wants to tell him he’s beautiful, because he is, but he doesn’t.

“Get on me Gallagher,” It’s a classic Mickey line but there’s none of the usual bite behind it. He sounds wrecked and Ian wonders if anyone has ever kissed him like that before. He realises, probably not. It’s quick when he fucks Kash from behind but Ned likes to top and kiss Ian while they do it. Ian thinks it’s a bit boring but he doesn’t really mind enough to say anything. He hopes it’s not boring for Mickey, but somehow he doesn’t think it is.

“Get naked then,” he grins down at Mickey, grabbing at the hem of his shirt while Mickey wriggles out of his pants. It might be a bit too warm and sticky but one positive thing about summertime is less clothes to take off. Ian goes to run his hands over Mickey’s torso, stopping when he sees the dark bruise just below his left clavicle. It’s almost perfectly round, fist shaped. He rakes his eyes over the rest of Mickey and sees a matching, bigger, but less defined, bruise below his ribs.

He looks back up at Mickey’s face, mouth twisting in concern, “Mickey-”

Mickey looks nervous, Ian doesn’t know why.

“What? I told you my dad got pissed and sent me home. Just fuck me will you,” and he flips himself over so he’s on his back.

Ian’s still sat up taking the sight of Mickey in. He knows Terry is a monster, he knows what he did to Mandy for fucksake, a lot worse than whatever he’s done to any of his sons, but it still makes him feel a bit like he’s choking. Frank has gotten physical with him once or twice, but it was always a fair fight. And Ian realises that he’s never felt afraid of Frank. He’s been scared of finding Frank dead in the gutter, been scared of Frank upsetting Fiona, or scared of him finding the money stashed in the kitchen but never been afraid of him.

Mickey, turns onto his side, grabbing at Ian’s arm harshly to pull him down on top of him, “Fuck me, bitch.”

Ian sits up properly out of Mickey’s reach, “Stop it, you’re hurt Mick.”

There’s anger all over Mickey’s face when he sits up and turns to face Ian again. There’s embarrassment there too, or shame Ian thinks. If they weren’t in Mickey’s bedroom alone with his defenses low, he probably would be swinging for Ian, cursing him out and leaving. But he stays where he is, staring at Ian reproachfully.

“The fuck? The fuck have you cared about that before?” Mickey spits, and it’s true, they’ve beaten each other to a pulp countless times. Mickey is covered in old scars and Ian knows that some of them will be from him, probably some from Mandy too, but it’s different, Mickey must know that it’s different when Ian hurts him, than when Terry does.

Ian stands his ground, surprises himself at how level he keeps his voice, ”This isn’t the same thing.”

Mickey’s mouth opens and closes like he wants to fight but doesn’t know what to say.

“Come on Mickey,” Ian tries, reaching out a hand to rest on Mickey’s leg, “I’ll suck you off, I owe you one.” He gives a wry smile.

Mickey looks smaller than normal, arms crossed in front of his bare chest defensively. Ian thinks he’s probably grown quite a bit this summer, he doesn’t notice unless he’s talking to Lip or Fiona and notices himself looking down on them. He should probably measure himself. He knows that recently he can rest his head on Mickey’s as he takes him from behind, stood up in the stockroom, he thinks Mickey might like the height difference, noticed him checking him out differently to how he used to. He wants to stretch out beside Mickey, lie on the bed and measure his new body next to Mickey’s. But it’s not the time.

“C’mon Ian,” Mickey says glancing down at Ian’s hand on his leg. He’s speaking softly now, almost pleading. “I need this.”

It’s sincere and Ian narrows his eyes for a second, looking for a clue of some kind on Mickey’s face. He finds nothing and gives in.

“Okay, fine.” He sidles closer to Mickey again until he can tip him backwards to how they were before, “On your back though, no negotiation.” He wants to be able to see his face.

Mickey just whispers, “Okay.”

He takes his time opening Mickey up, kissing him while he does and Mickey lets him. He finally pushes in and Mickey winces. Ian stops.

Mickey’s eyes flutter open confused, “It’s fine, you just touched my sore hip. Don’t stop.”

Ian moves his hand, instantly guilty and dips his head to kiss the bruise on his chest, lips barely brushing the skin.

“Are you sure?”

He’s never seen Mickey like this, spread out under him, arms looped around Ian’s neck and he can’t ruin it. It might not happen again.

Mickey just rolls his eyes, “C’mon.”

Not good enough, he needs to hear it.

“Are you sure?”

Mickey lets out a shuddery exhale, “I’m sure, never been more.”

He doesn’t say much else after that other than Ian’s name, soft and gasped as Ian moves inside him, slow and deep. One of Mickey’s hands is in Ian’s hair, the other switching between running up and down Ian’s flank and his own cock. Ian grabs that hand, laces their fingers and strokes Mickey until he comes, moaning into Ian’s mouth. He’s only a few seconds behind. Ian wakes up in the morning curled around him.

In the fall when the leaves are turning and Mickey is in Juvie and Ian is underneath Ned they think about August.

**_-  
And I can see us twisted in bedsheets  
August sipped away like a bottle of wine  
'Cause you were never mine_**  
-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave me comment if you have any thoughts I really appreciate it.


End file.
